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Song: The Draw
Artist: Bastille
Don't listen to your friends, they only care once and a while
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Bellamy P.o.v.
I roll my eyes, tired of Octavia's complaining. "You can go back when you're older." Mom says, putting the keys into the front door. Murphy's practically asleep on my shoulder.
"But everything is so boring here. It's summer," she argues, "it's suppose to be sunny!" she exclaims as if the dull weather is unfair. It'll start getting sunny in August and September. Dad just yawns.
"Sweetheart, you're just tired." he mumbles, as we bring everything inside. Murphy slugs his way to the stairs, starting to walk up. "Hey," Dad gets his attention. "No sleeping." he instructs and his eyes widen a little.
"What?" I ask, feeling jet lagged as hell.
"We need to get back into our time, so you have to go to bed at a normal hour." This isn't regular jet lag, this is losing a day jet lag. I feel ill all of a sudden and the thought of staying awake sounds like hell. We bring the luggage up and Mom wants us to unpack and put everything in the laundry bin, but I can barely keep both my eyes open. However, it does feel nice to be home.
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"Come on, wake up." I sigh, nagging Murphy. I hold his shoulder, and he groans into the pillow–
"Dinner!" I wince at the loud sound, wondering if that hurt Mom's throat. I can't imagine eating right now. Everything almost seems otherworldly. I try to remember the last thing I ate. I'm pretty sure it was back in Australia, but I might have had something on the plane. It was a twelve hour long ride, I'm sure I had something.
"Tell them that I'm dead," Murphy says into that pillow. "Tell them to eat without me." he instructs, groaning. I pat his back, shaking my head.
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I glance at the clock, seeing that the evening is only starting and that we'll only be aloud to sleep in around two hours. Watching tv is the hardest thing to do. The brightness of the screen burns holes in my dry eyes. I look over to Mom and Dad on the end of the couch, wondering how they're still awake and seemingly not tired.
"Can we take a walk or something?" Murphy mumbles to me. "If we don't do something productive I'm going to pass out." he concludes and I nod. Yeah it sucks to be back, but now we don't have to ask permission to leave the house.
The sky is starting to dim as we step outside.
Murphy P.o.v.
The sidewalk is boring in this neighbourhood. The only thing it has is a row of houses and a street. I guess all sidewalks are like this– my brain hurts. My thoughts reel, making no sense. I glance at a telephone pole, smirking at the poster. I nudge Bellamy. The paper has been stapled several times and rain and time has caused it to fade. I stare at the 'MISSING' flyer for Mbege, with nothing but hate.
"He's not missing." I mutter, ripping the sign down, crumpling it up.
"Sorry?" Bellamy asks, clearly struggling to walk and stay focused at the same time.
"He's dead, not missing." I mutter, the idea of Mbege being missing gives me angry chills. I know he's not, but I'm still uneasy. I expect Bellamy to maintain his normal silence, but instead, he lets out a short laugh. I look at him, eyebrows raised.
"You're laughing and one of your best friends is missing?" I joke. He rolls his eyes with a smile. "That's pretty fucked up that you'd react that way." I remark. My sleep's fucking with my sentence structure.
"I'm fucked up?" he asks amused. I nod slowly. "Then what does that make you?" he asks. I think it over, not taking offence. It's not like it's the first time that I've been called that–fucked up.
I shrug. "Wrong." I reply and he gives me an odd look.
"What's that suppose to mean?" he asks and I shrug. I remain silent as we start walking home. I let out a premature sigh, shoving my hands into my pockets. My eyes are still heavy, and my heart rate's slow. I need to go to bed. "You know that I love you, yeah?" he breaks the silence, catching me a bit by surprise. I smirk, my heart rate beating normally. I'm getting more and more nervous. No, he's lying. I nod.
"Yeah," I reply, trying to sound convincing. "And I love you." I state as an obvious fact– it sounds almost condescending.
"How?" he asks as though it's something impossible. We stop in front of his house.
"What's that suppose to mean?" I repeat the question he'd asked me earlier. He shrugs shyly, crossing his arms.
"I was such an ass to you,"
"I forgave you." I tell him that, but a part of me still feels the sting of old memories related to him. "What's done is done." I mumble, realizing the annoyance in my voice. I see a look of pain in his face. He rarely gets that. All he does is smile on occasion. He doesn't have the widest variety of emotions. "Look," I sigh. "We've both done shitty things, and all there's left to do is move one. Why dwell on the past? Trust me, I have a list of things I'd like to redo, but can't." I admit. "I don't care." I conclude.
Bellamy P.O.V.
I feel my blood boil and I hope it doesn't show. "But you do." I snap, Murphy flinches. I give him an odd look. With three harsh, honestly spoken words, I crack him like a glow stick. I don't break him, but I'll be able to see what he's been hiding from me. Maybe he'll open up and elaborate more on what he said that night he was drunk.
"Look, if I did care, I wouldn't be here right now." he states through his teeth before trying to get into the house. The lights are off in the living room, which suggests that everyone's gone to bed. Lucky. I stop him from entering, but he says something that I don't catch. He sounds pissed and sad.
"What?"
"I said," he doesn't look at me anymore. "How do you think I feel, waking up everyday, knowing that you're going to leave?" he asks strictly and I can come up with one hundred and one reasons why he's being irrational.
"I'm not leaving you." I retort, looking at him cautiously.
He laughs prematurely. It's short and bitter. "Please," he says with attitude. "Nothing lasts. Especially not with me." he sounds so sure of this and I can't help but take offence.
"You're fucking kidding me!" I bark, breaking the outdoor tension. "Who the fuck do you think I am?" I ask, seeing nothing in his eyes. Clearly those words weren't a mistake when they left his mouth.
"You're smart." he says, shutting me up. No shit I'm smart, I'm a genius compared to him. "A smart guy like you'll see soon that you deserve someone who's worth it."
"You are worth it." I inform him, but he shoots me down.
"I'm worth shit, Bell, I deserve someone like my mother– after the shit I've pulled, I should be dead." his voice cracks as he strains it. "How the fuck are you not scared of me?" he asks and with the slightest pang of reluctancy, I shove him against the door, trapping him between my two arms, each hand on either side of him. They rest on the door.
"Are you scared right now?" I ask, sounding intimidating, even to myself. I used to bully him, I know how to look at him, I know which buttons to poke and I take pride in knowing how to make John Murphy, scared.
He shakes his head, but I stare at him intensely. "Don't lie to me, I swear to God." I mutter brutally into his ear. He slowly nods his head. "Alright," I say, slowing everything down, trying to get it through his thick skull.
"This is how you want me to feel when I'm around you, hm?" I ask, knowing I won't get an answer from him. "But guess what?" Maybe I'm being a bit rude with condescending tone. "I don't feel anything close to the way you feel right now." I tell him. He looks back at me, trying to hide his emotions. He's losing the ability to hide himself from me.
"I've killed people." he admits and I almost laugh in his face. He's still fighting me on this. "I'm fucked up."
"And I broke your arm and made your childhood a living nightmare. Now I'm here, trying to convince you, that I love you." I confess. "I'm no more put together than you are."
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